H-France Review Volume 3 (2003) Page 117 H-France Review Vol. 3 (March 2003), No. 29 Lenard R. Berlanstein, Daughters of Eve: A Cultural History of French Theater Women from the Old Regime to the Fin-de-Siècle. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2001. xiv + 300 pp. Figures, notes, bibliography, and index. $45.00 U.S. (cl). ISBN 0-674-00596-1. Anne Martin-Fugier, Comédienne: De Mlle Mars à Sarah Bernhardt. 416 pp. Paris: Seuil, 2001. Notes, chronology, bibliography, and index. 21.04 € (pb). ISBN 2-02-039904-0. Review by Charles Sowerwine, University of Melbourne. The two books under review are, despite their similarity of subject, entirely different books about entirely different issues. Berlanstein analyses the treatment of actresses [sic: 1] in French culture and its significance for the evolution of gender in that culture. Martin-Fugier has written a wonderfully expansive history of women in the theater: how they became actors, how they performed, how they succeeded or failed, how they lived, how they loved. One study is a major contribution to gender history, the other a fine contribution to theater and cultural history. Berlanstein’s book is not a history of women in the theater. It is a history of representations of theater women extended to analyze French gender order and its evolution. It is a superb example of a cultural approach to gender history. Berlanstein works from the many recent advances in gender history to understand the world of the theater. He then moves back to illuminate the culture’s broad gender order in a powerful but always readable macro-analysis. He substantiates, nuances, and occasionally revises the broad gender history which has emerged in the past decade. At both levels, he is erudite and sure- footed, with a marvelous grasp of the big picture and an eye for the telling detail. This study, Berlanstein explains at the outset, “is much more about loves and lusts of Frenchmen for female players than about the quotidian practices of theatrical life. I treat actresses as cultural sites where social, class, political, and gendered forces intersected in such a way as to produce meanings that helped explain social organization” (p. 1). He achieves his aim in a wonderfully relaxed way, so free of jargon (the quoted passage is the closest the book comes to jargon) that the book can serve as an initiation into the gender history of nineteenth-century France. The assumption underpinning the book--one which Berlanstein justifies amply--is that the perceived position of leading actresses in the economy of sexual desire and practice offers us a large window on the general culture of desire and the broad gender structure. The ways that men treat actresses and the ways that the culture represents them show us how the culture understood and represented love, desire, and sex. H-France Review Volume 3 (2003) Page 118 Berlanstein sees five distinct periods in the evolution of this understanding. The eighteenth century, he argues, endorsed “libertinage” as appropriate conduct for aristocrats. The Revolutionary and Napoleonic regimes sought to instill Rousseauist virtue in society. The Restoration and July Monarchy hankered after a vision of eighteenth-century elegance. The Second Empire and the early Third Republic demonstrated Republican repugnance for unmanly ways (harking back to Rousseau’s thoughts on gender and theater), which Berlanstein calls “the politics of gender panic” (p. 149 ff). And from 1880-- this is Berlanstein’s most unexpected finding--the later Third Republic accepted actresses as artists, now represented as thoroughly respectable and domestic, not to say domesticated. Berlanstein’s argument about eighteenth-century aristocratic sexual mores and the Revolutionary challenge to this gender order corresponds broadly to recent work on the period. He acknowledges the influence of Thomas Laqueur, Carole Pateman, Leora Auslander, Geneviève Fraisse, Joan Landes, and Joan Scott, as well as, perhaps unsurprisingly, Michel Foucault (pp. 4-5, 8, 243-45n). Berlanstein was previously distinguished as a social historian. (Curiously, Harvard University Press did not choose to list his previous books.[2]) He moves quickly to “reassure” those “who are skeptical about social constructionist explanations” that “I did not come to the material with any particular predisposition for this model. Yet the coincidence of changes in political order and representations of actresses, on the one hand, and the extraordinary degree of intracyclical consistency, on the other hand, inevitably pushed me” to this position (p. 4). Berlanstein’s argument about the eighteenth century is consistent with the work of Lynn Hunt, Roger Chartier, Sarah Maza, and others. For him, the fear of Rousseau, Mercier, Rétif de la Bretonne, and others, a fear of “unruly women corrupting male reason,” (p. 64) was inherent in the cast of mind that underpinned the Revolution, which in turn defined "the new gender order" on this basis (pp. 59 ff.). What he adds is an argument for the centrality of actresses in the culture of libertinism and its breakdown, which, drawing on Laqueur, he defines as a new “construction . of women’s subordinate position,” emphasizing “the complementarity of the sexes rather than women’s lesser status” (p. 61). By focusing on actresses, he sees signs of the impending breakdown of the old gender order and of implementation of the new order well before the Revolution and, most interestingly, intrinsically linked to the Revolution. In a typically fascinating study of one incident, he shows how male actors of the Comédie-française--all future revolutionaries--met to write its cahier de doléances and instead initiated a novel effort to exclude women because “’they are excluded by law from all virile functions’” (p. 75). This and other similar evidence leads him to side with Joan Landes against Dominique Godineau. The exclusion of women was, as Landes argues, inherent in the new order. Berlanstein states, "It was not the case that the revolutionaries opened political possibilities for women only to reverse themselves later because groups of females proved to be too potent a political force" (p. 76).[3] Interestingly, the beginnings of a counter-case to Landes’ argument may be emerging now, too late for Berlanstein’s study: several recent writers, led by Carla Hesse, have found examples of female success in print, in opera, and in the salon during the very period when the current orthodoxy would see women’s being restricted.[4] Yet Berlanstein may have the basis of a response. “By giving adult men . full citizenship” and beginning the realization of separate spheres, “'restoring’ men and women to their rightful places,” he argues, the Revolution “offered hope that unruly women could not easily pervert male reason” (p. 80). Have Hesse and others found holes through which women were allowed to sneak because they were no longer a threat, or have they indeed found a fundamental weakness in the new orthodoxy? Berlanstein’s argument on the first two-thirds of the nineteenth century is unlikely to arouse as much debate. He is convincing in showing that post-Napoleonic culture sought a return to old regime sexual mores and sharp in demonstrating how that return was nevertheless inflected by the fundamental shift which, in his terms, defined “the Modern Gender Order,” as one chapter is entitled, between 1760 and 1815. He is fun on the erotics of the mid-century, when stage performers seem really to have offered the H-France Review Volume 3 (2003) Page 119 height of eroticism, on- and off-stage. And he is insightful on the Republican reaction to this culture, a horror of the debilitating effects of lascivious women, particularly those of the stage. Berlanstein’s most original insight and the one which may excite disagreement, concerns the fin-de- siècle. For him the evidence is clear: just as the Revolution’s success in establishing visibly male as well as popular sovereignty calmed fears that women would undermine male reason and virtue, so the Third Republic’s success led not only to the abatement of “antipornocratic discourse” (p. 158) but indeed to a redefinition of the actress; she became, finally, an artist worthy of public respect.[5] He is certainly right on the specifics. His evidence is colorful but solid and wide-ranging. And he is certainly right that the Third Republic established a masculine polity, the most masculine of the five republics. Is he right, however, to infer from this redefinition a challenge to the now widely accepted view that the fin-de-siècle witnessed a crisis of male sexual anxiety (expressed as fear of decadence) and an attack on independent women (pp. 180-81)? To read the period as exclusively antifeminist would be a grave error. But one cannot dismiss the accumulation of hostile representations of women, any more than one can dismiss the positive ones Berlanstein has found, the development of feminism and the construction of the archetypal new woman. Siân Reynolds reminds us that Proust’s Albertine wheeled her bicycle along with her “gang” of female friends. They were not the modest, sedate young women of “times past.”[6] Did not the deployment of both negative and positive images of women result from their increasing visibility? Overall, however, one cannot praise Berlanstein’s work too highly. Martin-Fugier’s radically different approach to the same empirical core also deserves praise, although it is less theoretically grounded and less innovative. Martin-Fugier has pioneered the history of women with La Place des bonnes (1979) and her chapter on this in the classic collection, Misérable et glorieuse: la femme du XIXe siècle (1980), La Bourgeoise, femme au temps de Paul Bourget (1983), and a superb chapter in Volume IV of the celebrated History of Private Life (French ed., 1987; English ed., 1991).